Stuck in the Middle (22 page)

“Well.” Gram sniffed. “You can take both pieces and share.”

Joan grinned at her as she stacked their plates beside the sink. “She’ll love it.”

Mom turned on the faucet and plunged a finger under the flow, waiting for the water to warm. “Where did you go last night, anyway?”

Joan turned back toward the table and began gathering silverware. So far she had managed to avoid being questioned about her whereabouts. She really didn’t want to discuss it, but she couldn’t very well lie about going to church, could she?

Drawing a breath, she said, “I went to hear Mary Alice Sachs at the Open Bible Church.”

Hands full of silverware, she turned to find both Mom and Gram staring at her with open mouths. Was it so unusual for her to want to go to church in the middle of the week? Apparently so. She deposited the silverware on top of the plates, avoiding either of their eyes.

Gram recovered herself first. “You said you had an errand to run.”

“No, I just said I was going to Lexington.”

“But I thought you were going for work.” Gram shook her head. “You didn’t tell me you were going to church.”

“Would it have mattered?”

She gave another injured sniff as she smoothed plastic wrap over the leftover container. “I might have liked to go along if I’d known.”

Guilt assaulted Joan. She never even considered that Gram might want to hear the missionary’s talk again. How selfish of her. She opened her mouth to apologize but Mom cut her off.

“Honestly, Mother, Joan doesn’t have to take you everywhere she goes.”

Gram ducked her head at the stinging reprimand. Anger flared up in Joan. Didn’t Mom realize how harsh her voice sounded?

She reached across the counter and covered Gram’s hand with her own. “I’m sorry. I should have asked.”

Mom turned toward the sink, presenting a rigid back. Eyes round, Gram gave Joan a wide-eyed glance and remained silent. Swallowing back a sigh, Joan went to the table to gather the napkins and place mats. Okay, maybe Mom didn’t mean to be rude. Maybe she thought she was sticking up for her daughter in some weird way. But did she have to hurt Gram’s feelings?

The atmosphere in the cozy kitchen grew awkward as a chilled silence stretched to an uncomfortable length. This never happened when Mom was at work, when it was just Joan and Gram alone in the house. Joan fought a rising resentment as she stepped around the counter and picked up a towel, ready to dry the dishes as Mom rinsed them.

“Actually,” she said to Gram, more to break the silence than anything, “you probably wouldn’t have liked it. The music was loud. They had drums and guitars.”

Mom looked sideways to give her a thin smile. “So did she say anything new?”

Her voice was carefully polite, at which Joan heaved a relieved sigh. Conflict avoided. “No, it was the same talk she gave at our church. But she’s a really good speaker.” Joan dried the glass Mom handed her and placed it in the cupboard. “I . . . enjoyed it.”

Mom rinsed a second glass and handed it to her. Taking it, Joan turned away to avoid her inquisitive blue eyes.

Gram placed the container in the refrigerator. “Alice Shropshire called today. She has a new great-grandbaby, a boy.”

She told them all the details of Mrs. Shropshire’s greatgrandson as they finished up the dishes. Then Mom went downstairs to find her book while Joan and Gram settled on the living room couch in front of the television.

As soon as Mom disappeared down the stairs, Joan said in a low voice, “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to go with me last night. I should have.”

Gram patted her arm. “Nonsense. Carla’s right. You need to do things on your own. You don’t need an old woman tagging along all the time.”

Joan squeezed her hand. “I love having you tag along.” She fell silent a moment, then asked the question that had burned in her mind since she left the Open Bible Church last night. “Gram, do you think God really does things like Mrs. Sachs described?”

Gram stared at the television set as she punched the remote button. “Oh, I expect he does. Just not here.”

“But why not?”

“Because we don’t need him to.” Gram turned her head to smile at Joan. “We live quiet lives here, so we don’t have any need for dramatic miracles. He knows that. For us, it would be disruptive.”

Joan looked away. Maybe Gram was right. She certainly spent more time reading the Bible than Joan.

Having found a program she liked, Gram put the remote control down on the coffee table. “Some people aren’t like us, though. People like Ken, next door. They like life to have more flare, more drama. That’s why there are all sorts of churches, so everyone can find one where they’re comfortable. It doesn’t mean theirs is wrong, just different.”

Joan tilted her head, considering. There was probably some truth in that. Not everybody would be comfortable having a helicopter land on their front lawn to deliver the ice cream.

But surely God knew that. If he wanted to, couldn’t he use a quiet, nondisruptive delivery method?

On the other hand, wouldn’t it be cool to see something exciting, something so out of the ordinary that it changed people’s lives? Joan understood better than anyone Gram’s need for order, for a routine. She felt the same about a lot of things. But maybe a little disruption every now and then wasn’t a bad idea.

Mom came back upstairs, her book in hand. “I’m going to make a cup of tea. Does anyone else want one?”

“No, thank you,” Gram said, her attention fixed on the screen.

Joan shook her head. Mom disappeared into the kitchen, and Joan heard water running. She pictured Mom filling the teakettle, setting it on the stove, turning the burner on, taking a mug down from the cabinet, going for—

“Mother!”

Beside her, Gram started at the sharp tone in Mom’s voice. She looked up as Mom stomped through the doorway, Gram’s pillbox clutched in her hand.

“You haven’t taken your blood pressure medicine all week.”

Gram’s expression clouded with confusion. “I haven’t?” Mom tossed her head upward and gave an exasperated grunt. “No, you haven’t.” She spoke in an exaggerated voice. “What is the point of having this pillbox if you can’t even remember to open it every day?”

She shook the pillbox in Gram’s direction to emphasize her words. Gram’s shoulders drooped as though she were a guilty child being scolded. At the sight of her bowed white head, searing anger shot through Joan. Before she could stop herself, she jumped to her feet and crossed the room in three steps to jerk the pillbox out of her mother’s hand.

“What is the matter with you?” she shouted. “Why do you treat her like a child?”

Mom’s mouth dropped open, her eyes round behind her glasses. Joan stormed past, fury pounding in her ears. In the kitchen her face felt hot, her heartbeat uncomfortably fast in her chest, but she ignored those things and focused instead on opening the pillbox and filling a glass with water. Then she stomped back to the living room, ignoring Mom as she slapped the pills and water down onto the coffee table in front of Gram.

“Don’t worry,” she told her wide-eyed grandmother. “I’ll remember to check the pillbox every day for you.”

With that she left the room and ran down the stairs. She closed her bedroom door behind her, and then paced back and forth between the closet and her nightstand. Her pulse raced, while a sick feeling settled deep in her stomach, turning her dinner into an uncomfortable lump. What had she just done? She never shouted, not since she was a kid. As teenagers Allie and Tori threw fits all the time, and Mom raised her voice whenever she was angry, but Joan was the calm one, the one who never lost control.

In some distant section of her brain, a part that was calmly observing this un-Joan-like behavior, she realized the irony of shouting at her own mother because she shouted at hers.

A knock sounded on the door. Mom, of course. Joan considered telling her to go away. She wasn’t ready to talk yet, not while her breath was still coming in angry gulps and blood still roared in her ears.

But Joan was accustomed to obeying and habit stepped in. She took a deep breath. “Come in.”

Mom opened the door wide enough to slip her thin frame through, and closed it behind her. Her lips were pressed so tightly together that deep lines creased her skin at the edges of her mouth. Her eyes blazed as she captured Joan’s gaze and held it.

“You want to tell me what that was all about?” Her lips clamped shut the minute she forced the words out.

Joan dropped into the chair beside her bed. “I just don’t see why you have to be so disrespectful to her.”

Mom’s eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs. “Disrespectful? I’m trying to keep her healthy.”

The words shot out of Joan’s mouth before she could stop them. “Sounds to me like you’re trying to get rid of her.”

Mom’s jaw dropped. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh come on, you’re always talking about how forgetful she is, and the other day you took her to that nursing home.” Her mother sucked in a breath, but Joan corrected herself. “Excuse me,
assisted living center
.”

Mom’s eyelids narrowed at the sarcasm in Joan’s tone. “So that’s what this is about. You think I’m trying to come up with a reason to send her away.”

Joan clenched the arms of the chair. “Aren’t you?”

“No.” She gave her head a firm shake. “But I do admit I think Waterford would be good for her.”

Her words washed over Joan like a bucket of icy water. Her anger fled in an instant, leaving a sick feeling in her stomach and her hands clammy. She rubbed them on her pants.

Mom crossed to the bed and perched on the edge of it. “I have a couple of reasons for thinking that. First of all, she isn’t as alert as she used to be.” Joan drew breath to protest, but Mom held up a hand to stop her. “I’m not saying she’s senile, far from it. But she used to be so active and have so many friends. Now instead of getting out and doing things, she stays home and alphabetizes the laundry. She’s lonely, honey. There are lots of people her age at Waterford, and several of her old friends. Socializing with them would keep her alert.”

“But if you take her out of her home, away from everything she’s ever known, she’ll go downhill.” Her voice trembled, and she swallowed hard. “She’ll die.”

Mom shook her head. “Joan, you don’t know what you’re talking about. That place isn’t a cold, impersonal institution. It’s more like a country club.”

Tears stung behind Joan’s eyes, and she drew a shuddering breath as she fought to keep them back. “But this is her home. She deserves to grow old gracefully in it if that’s what she wants.”

“I absolutely agree.”

Startled, Joan searched Mom’s face. “You do?”

“Of course I do.” Her shoulders drooped as she heaved a sigh. “I know I’m sometimes too harsh with her, but I love her, and blood pressure medicine is nothing to mess with. I’ll start laying her medicine out when I get home so she remembers to take it. I should have done that before, instead of buying that pillbox.”

“I don’t mind doing it.”

“I know you don’t, and that’s the second reason I think Waterford would be a good move. Because of you.”

Joan sat up straight in the chair. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You’ve taken too much responsibility for her care.” She smiled. “That’s commendable, honey, but you’re twenty-five years old. You’ve got your own life to live.”

“I am living my own life. Maybe this is what I want.” Joan’s chin rose. “She’s my grandmother.”

“Yes, and she’s my mother.” Mom’s mouth stretched into a tight smile. “If she’s anybody’s responsibility, she’s mine.”

The words shot into Joan like a bullet. That was the problem. If it ever came down to a decision, Gram would bow to Mom’s wishes. Mom, not Joan, was in control. Mom had the power to send Gram away, just like she’d sent Daddy away.

Unshed tears prickled painfully. Someone she loved dearly, someone who loved her, could be taken away from her and she wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.

Mom’s voice cut softly into Joan’s fierce struggle to contain the sob that threatened to choke her. “Joan, when did I become the enemy?”

When you drove my daddy away.
But Joan couldn’t say that, couldn’t say anything. Her throat felt caught in a vise.

Mom stood and crossed the room to stand in front of her chair. She leaned over, took Joan’s shoulders in her warm hands, and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “I love you, honey. You know that, don’t you?”

Joan closed her eyes. Mom’s favorite lilac-scented lotion filled her nostrils as the padlock on her emotions clicked open. A hot tear slipped first down one cheek and then the other. That was the problem, of course. She knew Mom loved her. But Mom never understood her, not like Daddy did. Daddy was quiet, introspective, peaceful to be around. As a little girl, Joan would crawl into his lap at the end of the day and they would sit in silence, just enjoying one another’s presence without having to say a word. Mom was talkative and boisterous, like Allie and Tori. She didn’t have a clue what it meant for Joan to lose the only person in the family who was like her.

And Joan didn’t have the words to explain it to her.

She put her hands over her mother’s and squeezed. “I love you too, Mom.”

It was true, but it didn’t make anything better.

~ 15 ~

“You are coming, and that’s all there is to it.”

Joan leaned against the sales counter and swallowed a sigh so Tori couldn’t hear it through the phone. “I’ve had a really busy week, and I was looking forward to just sitting at home tonight.”

“Joan, listen to yourself! This is Saturday night. You can sit at home every other night of the week, but not on Saturday. And besides, if we don’t do this soon, we may not have the chance for a long time. Allie’s going to have the baby next month, you know.”

Tori had a point. When Allie married Eric, the dynamics of the sisters’ relationship had been altered. Another personality was inserted into their trio, his presence felt even when he wasn’t there. The arrival of a baby would mean even more drastic changes.